What happened? She remembered a Nishkuk attacking. Then falling. And Alchemists?
Klara cracked an eyelid and winced. The light wasn’t as soft as she’d assumed.
“The Dragon Striker’s awake!”
A thunderous round of cheers deafened her.
Klara screwed her eyes shut and tried to block her ears, but she couldn’t move her arms. Panic surged through her as she fought to move. What the depths? Had she lost her arms?
“Relax,” a woman said. “You’re in a full body cast to allow the healing extract time to work without you, well, moving and disrupting it.”
Klara managed a grunt and opened her eyes, blinking back tears from the light. An Alchemist healer hovered above her, weary concern in her eyes. In the edge of Klara’s vision, she saw dozens of battered Sentinels ringed around the bed. And Zimbicki, his face straight but eyes twinkling.
“What happened?” Klara asked, her voice a rough croak.
Zimbicki stepped fully into view and a smile cracked his face. “You single-handedly slew the first female Nishkuk the Sentinels have faced—”
“We all killed it.”
“Right, sure, Dragon Striker. What I’m unclear on though is why you ran off. Some Air Traders brought you down from the surface. What the depths were you doing?”
Klara tried to shrug, but the cast arrested her movement. “Must have been delirious from the fall.”
The smile faded from Zimbicki’s face. “You very nearly died. By the time they brought you to the surgery you only had faint heartbeats.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Two days,” the healer said.
“What?” Klara said, her eyes wide.
Zimbicki shot the Alchemist a glare.
The healer flushed. “I’ll check on the other wounded,” she said, excusing herself.
“You needed time to heal,” Zimbicki said. “Healing extracts are good—though not good enough to quickly heal the amount of damage you sustained. The cast comes off soon, but you need more time to finish your recovery.”
“I can’t be here.” Alarm coursed through Klara. She fought against the cast, ignoring the stabs of pain with every move.
“Lie still,” Zimbicki said, resting a hand on her cast covered shoulder. He looked up. “Everyone out. Give the woman some space.”
Reluctantly, the Sentinels dispersed.
When they were gone, Zimbicki perched on the edge of her bed. “Listen to me, Koskova,” he said. “If you hadn’t spent two days in here recovering, you would be dead. That fall did massive damage. According to the healers, you were bleeding like a stuck yutzi on the inside and a number of bones were also broken. Only strength extract held them in place while you did that barefoot suicide charge to the surface. We can thank the Sovereign Sculptor himself that healing extracts can fix such extensive injuries, but not even the wonders of modern alchemy can perform instant miracles.”
Klara ground her teeth as she stared at the white ceiling. Two days. “But Mikhail—” She cut off. Zimbicki didn’t know about Mikhail.
Zimbicki glanced sideways and stood. “Rest up,” he said and disappeared.
Klara scowled. What the depths was wrong with him? Before she could consider further, Sergei appeared. Great.
Sergei pulled a seat over and sat.
“What do you want?” Klara asked, voice cold.
A pained expression flickered over Sergei’s face. “To see how my daughter is.”
“Well, she’s fine. And guess what, she fought two Nishkuks and lived.” And four Alchemist soldiers, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Yes. Yes you did. Not to mention those Alchemist soldiers.”
Klara paled. He knew?
“Yuri told me everything.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Mikhail is safe. He’s with Yuri.”
Klara breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was that. “What about the Alchemist that Mikhail came to see, Dominik? I saw…” Sovereign Sculptor, it hurts to say her name. “I saw Zin carrying him.”
Sergei shook his head. “They took him and fled.”
“Ah.” Klara stared at the ceiling—the only thing she could easily stare at. Not that the plain white paint held anything of interest. Not even a crack marked its surface. “What happened to Idalie?” Klara asked suddenly, surprising herself.
Sergei massaged his forehead and said, “We gave her truth extract and questioned her. As you’ve probably already realised, she was innocent. And outraged. We had to heavily compensate her to keep her from reporting the misunderstanding to the Alchemist Guild. She’s on her way back to Machtvoll now. I don’t think Serovnya impressed her much.”
“Ouch,” Klara said, cringing. The one kind person in Borovsk and Klara had as good as thrown Idalie to the Nishkuks.
They drifted into awkward silence for a minute. Sergei absently rubbed his stump, a reflective look in his eye. “You know, I would have given both arms to save Lokteva.”
Despite knowing what he meant, Klara felt a stab of pain at the comment. “That’s the problem, Father.”
Sergei frowned. “I don’t take your meaning.”
“You gave her everything—even your arm. All you left me were harsh words and criticisms.”
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“It was the only way to ensure you became the best.”
“Oh that is a stinking pile of yutzi muck,” Klara said, eyes flashing. “You were bitter and angry and terrified I’d die like Lokteva.”
“Of course I was terrified I’d lose you! If I had my way, you would never have joined the Warrior Guild. Or the Sentinels.”
“Well, you almost got your wish. I barely passed training, and only after two attempts.”
Sergei coughed and looked away.
Klara’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
When Sergei didn’t respond, she continued, “You asked them to fail me in my first test, didn’t you?”
“It was for your own good, Klara. I hoped you would drop the fool’s errand of fighting a Nishkuk.”
“You still don’t get it—”
“No, Klara, you don’t get it,” Sergei interrupted. “I felt Lokteva die—I held her hand while she bled to death in a Nishkuk’s mouth. You cannot even begin to imagine the torture of holding your child’s hand as they die in agony—utterly helpless to stop their suffering. You’re an ignorant fool if you believe you wouldn’t do exactly the same as I did to ensure the rest of your family lived long lives.”
The anger that had burned for so many years within Klara dissolved as she stared at her father, at his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, at his gaunt and haggard features barely masked by his thick, white-streaked beard. She struggled to breathe past the knot threatening to choke her. “That doesn’t excuse you.”
“Excuse me for what?”
“After Lokteva died, you never had a kind word for me. You pushed me to breaking point. You treated us like our pain wasn’t as important as yours.”
Sergei’s face fell.
“I felt like I’d never live up to her,” Klara said.
“I couldn’t…”
“Couldn’t what?”
Sergei drew a long breath. “I constantly told Lokteva how proud I was of her and how great she was. She took it to mean she was better than she really was. Lok should never have been in the Arena that day. She begged me to let her fight the Nishkuk—she was ready after all. I always praised her, so she must be.”
“You were worried that if you complimented me, I’d stop trying to be the best and think I was the best? You felt if I had an easy journey, I’d die?”
“And you very nearly did, Klara. I almost lost both my daughters to those muckers.”
“But you didn’t.”
Sergei sighed. “No. No I did not.”
They lapsed into silence once more and Klara felt the moment slipping away. She’d been a fool to believe her father might actually apologise for his mistakes. No, he’d just defended his pain and his reactions. Again.
To Klara’s frustration, tears stung her eyes. Not now, not in front of him!
“You’re right, though,” Sergei said, the words sounding wrenched from him.
“About?” Klara asked, not trusting herself to say more.
“I… treated you wrong. I took my anguish over Lokteva out on you.”
Klara held her breath. Was this… was this an apology?
Sergei gripped her shoulder. “I am proud of you, Klara.”
Klara waited a beat. Nope. That was all he had to say. “Oh come on!” she said, the words exploding from her. “It’s two pathetic words. Surely you can manage?”
Sergei looked taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“ ‘I’m sorry.’ Two words.”
“But I admitted I made a mistake.”
Klara shook her head. “No, Father, it doesn’t count. I need you to apologise.”
Sergei was silent for so long Klara thought he wasn’t going to say it. Then he gave her a rueful smile. “I am sorry, Klara.”
Klara sniffed. “That’s four words.”
“Doesn’t make them less true.”
Nothing Klara could do could stop the tears that stung her eyes.
“Please stop crying,” Sergei said, almost begging.
Klara smiled as she looked at him through misty eyes. “How did you have two wives and two daughters and not learn that our tears are no more under our control than the arrival of a Nishkuk?”
Sergei coughed, his face reddening. “They aren’t?”
“Hah! You think we want to go around bleeding tears everywhere?”
“Er. I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”
“So, what now?” Klara asked. “I suppose I have to go back to Borovsk and get dishonoured.”
“Well, you could if that’s what you want,” Sergei said, looking relieved at the change of topic.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Kozlowek is a pompous moron,” Sergei said with sudden venom. “She wanted to dishonourably discharge me when she found out you and Mikhail had escaped. Insisted I’d helped you. In fact, she tried to discharge your entire squad.”
“Seriously? They had nothing to do with it!”
“I know.”
“So… what happened to them?” Klara asked with a stab of concern. They didn’t deserve to be dragged through the muck by Kozlowek.
A smile quirked Sergei’s lips. “That’s one of your options.”
Klara frowned, confused.
“You have three choices, Klara,” he said. “One, you can go back to Borovsk and be needlessly dishonoured. Two, you can stay here at Katavsk serving as a Sentinel. I’ve spoken to Katavsk’s commander, Markov Eagle-Eye—he and I have been comrades since before we joined the Sentinels together. Anyway, he saw you kill that Nishkuk. He was the one who got me out of Kozlowek’s clutches and informed me that my daughter—whom he dubbed ‘the Dragon Striker’—was here putting him out of a job.” Sergei chuckled and shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “It takes a lot to impress that man, Klara. He personally asked for you.”
Klara blushed, uncomfortable with being called the Dragon Striker, and that the legendary Markov Eagle-Eye himself had given her the title. And he wanted her? Klara stared at Sergei, dazed. “All right, the choice between those options is easy… what’s the third?”
Sergei hesitated.
“It’s about Mikhail, isn’t it?” Klara asked and saw the confirmation reflected in her father’s eyes. “He’s going to find Elana and the rest of 24th Squad are with him, right?” Klara barked out a laugh. “Of course they’d go with him. I don’t understand how the depths he forged such loyalty with them in just a few days.”
Sergei gave Klara a funny look. “You’re right that Mikhail is going to find Elana. We received word from a Warrior outpost up north that a short, white-haired Alchemist reported a new gate. We suspect the Alchemist is Elana. But you’re wrong about 24th Squad. Their loyalty isn’t with him, Klara. It’s with you.”
Klara blinked, stunned. “What?”
“Each one of them hates the Alchemist Guild for what they did to Alarick and Irmina, but they’ll only go with Mikhail if you go.”
How the depths had that happened? A few days ago they loathed the idea of her leading them.
Sergei must have guessed what she was thinking because he continued, “They heard about you standing up to Kozlowek to defend your brother. And everyone has heard how you killed the Nishkuk. But what really won them over was when Mikhail told them how you took down four Alchemist soldiers. While nearly unconscious. All to save him.”
Klara squirmed, wishing she could disappear into the cast.
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised that people respect the lengths you went to in order to protect your family?”
“Just did what I had to,” Klara mumbled. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”
Sergei laughed. A real laugh, with warmth to it.
“It’s true!” Klara protested.
“I’ll let you get some rest,” Sergei said, wiping his eyes and standing. “Yuri is preparing Vera’s Revenge to go rogue Alchemist hunting. You have a couple of days to decide what you want to do.” He turned and walked away.
“Papa.”
Sergei pivoted smoothly, surprise etched on his face.
Klara winced, realising she hadn’t called him that in years. It’d just slipped out.
A soft smile curved Sergei’s features, and the years seemed to slip from him. “Yes?”
“I’m going to find her, Elana… Mama…” she trailed off awkwardly.
Sergei gazed at her a moment, then gave a single nod and left.
Klara wriggled, trying to get comfortable in the cast. She would find Elana, and after that, she was going to hunt down that traitor Zin.
Broken Equinox
Graphic Violence
In the village of Priscilla, a child is born beneath green-lit boughs—marked by a dragon’s eye that never closes. Faith rots softly. Saints avert their gaze. And curses grow like roots, patient and deep.
As old myths stir and kingdoms decay, the broken are forced to choose: be devoured by the dark, or learn how to tend it.
- dark fantasy ? psychological ? slow-burn
- curse-driven narrative ? moral decay
- character-first ? no harem
- 4 chapters weekly (≥2000 words)
“In the quietest forests, the oldest eyes remain open.”
When the equinox nears, the forest listens. Curses awaken. Faith splinters. And the dragon’s eye remembers what humanity forgot.